Overload
by GreenLady
Summary: Sequel to Peaceful Illusions. They've survived dangers that normal people couldn't even begin to imagine, but when Quatre's empathic gift spins out of control, it could be too much for the Gundam pilots to handle. Yaoi.
1. Default Chapter

**Overload**

**By GreenLady**

**Disclaimer:  **Gundum Wing belongs to Bandai, Sunrise, and whoever else.  This is just in good fun.  

** Warnings:  **Yaoi and violence, of course.  Probably some naughty words, because they are teenage boys.  Oh, and Heero's a little crazy here, but there's a reason for it, so I refuse to label it as OC.

This is third in what now has, (damn it) become a series.  First came Trying Normal, Peaceful Illusions, and now Overload.  You don't _have_ to read the prequels, but it will make a lot more sense.  Thanks go to my beta Willowbranch for the long hours of listening patiently to me whine; you're the best.

Part 1 

"Quatre . . . "

Heero opened his eyes, blinking irritably as the smear of white ceiling above his head refused to come into focus.  A soft growl escaped his lips.  He had never been fond of impressionism, no matter how often his lover would gush enthusiastically over the work of artists like Cezanne and Monet, and this was exactly why.  Those paintings bore a disturbing resemblance to the first sight seen after emerging from involuntary unconsciousness.  Associating something with nausea and headaches did _not_ lead to fond recollections.

A bleary figure suddenly stepped into his line of vision and leaned over his prone body.  The person was recognizable only by the blonde hair framing the indistinct face.  "Quat . . ." he began, only to cut off abruptly as the world snapped back into focus.

It wasn't Quatre leaning over him.  It was Sally Poe.  Her nose was wrinkled in doctoral concern, and her warm eyes were framed by hair tightly pulled back into a ponytail, hair that was unmistakably a couple of shades darker than the other blonde Heero had mistaken her for.  

Heero's expression went blank, a belated defense mechanism.  He was shaken.  Quatre's presence had been strong.  So strong that he had been sure that the young Arab had been in the room with him.  That surety had been the only reason he had allowed himself to regain consciousness in such an unguarded fashion.  Otherwise his eyes would have remained shut until he had evaluated his situation and location thoroughly.

Sally lips pinched together slightly, the only sign that she had heard his slip.  She lightly caught his chin in her hand, the touch unthreatening and easily escapable.  The grip allowed her to keep his head still so she could check his pupils.  "Do you remember what happened, Heero?"

The brisk tone allowed Heero to get a measure of his control back.  He shook off his bout of unease, and gave her a measured look.  "Of course."  His voice was rusty with disuse, but he continued anyway.  "My team and I penetrated the target's base without running into difficulty.  Preventers Anson and Sebranek took out the guards in the control room and we gained control of their security system.  They kept in close contact with our second group, which consisted of Rais, Snow, and I.  We had just managed to plant the charges when we ran into a group of the enemy.  We exchanged fire."

"And you were shot," Sally finished, hands hovering over the bandage at his abdomen.  Her voice was matter of fact and professional, knowing that Heero would want to know the status of his body right away.  "You were really lucky.  The bullet hit your liver, but we managed to get a new one into you quickly thanks to the swift efforts of your teammates in pulling you out."  Artificially manufactured organs were commonplace in this day and age.  Winner Enterprises, Heero knew, owned a large stake in the technology.  Victims of injury or sickness had a much higher likelihood of survival with the lessened chance that their bodies would reject the new organs.  And if the new organs were rejected, they could always be replaced with one that was a better match.

Heero pulled his mind back from wandering, disturbed at its difficulty.  He felt uncharacteristically sluggish, but forced his brain into an analytical recount of the events that had led to the near failure of the mission.  The shutdown of the illegal weapons factory should have gone off without a hitch.  Heero had personally led a team of Preventers, and they had training, discipline, technology, and, most importantly, surprise, on their side.  It should have been easy.

But with the first staccato burst of gunfire, it had become apparent that they lacked something very important:  luck.  Duo always said that success was one part skill, and three parts luck, and it seemed that he was right.  Even the perfect soldier wasn't immune to bad luck.  A stray bullet, (possibly from his own team, and if that was the case, someone was going to get a long talk about "friendly fire") had tagged him in the gut.  The other Preventers had only *just* managed to pull him out under cover of the explosions.

All in all, it had been way too close for anyone's liking.

Heero looked up at Sally.  "The mission didn't go as smoothly as we had hoped."  His voice was flat, but the underlying tone was sardonic.  Heero was nothing if not a master of stating the obvious.

Sally quirked an eyebrow.  "Shit happens Heero.  Even to someone as skilled as you.  That's why I'm here.  Someone has to patch you idiots up."  She gave him a hard look.  "Of course, that means you have to be a good little patient and actually let me do my _job_.  Which means no leaving the hospital without my okay."  Sally wasn't just saying this to be funny.  The ex-pilots were known far and wide (or at least by exasperated doctors) as the worst patients in both the colonies and earth.

Heero frowned, choosing to disregard the concerned warnings.  Now that the mission report was out of the way, something, or rather the _lack_ of _someone_, was bothering him.  His deep blue eyes measured and weighed the sterile hospital room and found it wanting.  "Where's Quatre?"  He asked abruptly, turning to pin Sally with a sharp gaze.

Sally's eyes widened slightly before her expression turned suspiciously bland.  "He wanted to be here," she said carefully, "but you knew Quatre and work - he had a meeting that he couldn't get out of."

Heero's eyes narrowed.  He did know Quatre, certainly better than this particular, currently lying, female doctor.  He knew that if one of Quatre's friends was injured, let alone his lover, nothing would keep the blonde from their side.  

Nothing.  Unless there were unforeseen circumstances.

Sally's feet shifted slightly as she leaned back on her heels.  It was a relaxed pose, but sharp blue eyes missed nothing.  The doctor was good at controlling her body language, but not quite good enough.  Certainly not good enough to fool a paranoid like Heero Yuy.  Unforeseen circumstances.  The only thing that would keep Quatre from his side . . .

Heero sat up abruptly, ignoring the twinge of pain from his abdomen as well as Sally's alarmed cry at his sudden movement.  She tried to get him to lie back down, but a cutting glance stopped her fussing and froze her to the spot.  "What happened to Quatre?"  His voice was low and dangerous.

Sally was refusing to be intimidated.  Deliberately she straightened her spine, (although not without taking a prudent step back,) meeting his eyes levelly.  "I told you already, he's at work.  Something important came up."

"You're lying."

Sally bit her bottom lip absently in a telltale habit.  She clearly had something to say, but feared the consequences of letting it out.

Heero took an educated guess.  "Did Preventer Une order you not to tell me?"

Sally worried her lower lip harder.  Heero realized he was right on.  She took a deep breath.  "Look Heero.  She's just worried you'll end up hurting yourself, and I agree.  You're in no condition to be running off somewhere.  We know how you operate, you never give yourself enough time to heal as it is . . ."

Heero's expression made her trail off, shifting her eyes nervously away.  It was only through a supreme effort of will that he kept himself from lunging and _making_ her tell him everything.  Besides, that might actually take longer when she was already this close to caving.  "It's too late for that now.  I'll find out anyway, one way or another."  The implied threat was obvious.

But Sally Poe did not respond well to threats.  Her lips tightened belligerently, and indecision in her expression vanished in a wave of heated anger.  "Look Yuy, just because . . ."

"Preventer Poe!  Do we have a problem in here?"  The sharp voice came from the doorway, cutting off the doctor mid-sentence.

Sally stiffened.  Bravely she turned around to face Lady Une, somehow managing to look like a child with her hand caught in the cookie jar.  

Heero's eyes narrowed to slits as he looked at the ex-Oz officer.  "Where.  Is.  Quatre?"  He bit out, before Sally could say anything to placate her irate superior.  There was a growing feeling of urgency building in his chest.  All of his emotions were telling him that he had to find the blonde _now_.

Une frowned at him from the doorway, her long, loose hair framing her figure.  "Preventer Yuy.  If you can remain calm and not aggravate your injuries further I'll tell you.  Try to behave like an adult, and less like a time bomb."

Heero just glared, promising nothing.  "Tell me."

The women and exchanged glances.  Finally Lady Une nodded, a slight jerk of her head, and it was Sally who answered.  "Several days ago, around the time you were on your mission, Quatre was holding a meeting with W.E.'s subsidiaries.  I believe they were discussing a merger.  Then, according to witnesses, in the middle of his pitch, Quatre suddenly collapsed without any warning."  There was a slight pause.  Heero could feel the blood rushing through his ears.  The sense of urgency was growing.  "He was rushed to a nearby hospital, but the doctors couldn't find anything physically wrong with him.  But . . ."  Her eyes were full of sympathy.  "He hasn't woken up."

"There's nothing you can do for him right now Heero," Une said, voice level.  "We'll get you over to him as soon as possible, but you shouldn't be moved with your injuries as they are right now.  You're staying in this hospital.  We have your best interests at heart. . . "  

Heero ignoring her words yanked an I.V. line out of his wrist.  "What hospital was he taken too?"  He planted his feet on the floor and hauled himself up, gritting his teeth as the movement pulled the unhealed skin at his side.  Sally reached for him quickly, obviously hoping to get him to lie back down.  Heero grabbed her arm before she could touch him, the grip threatening and painful.  "Where is he!?"

Sally winced at the hold, but did not cry out.  Une was yelling in the background.  "Heero, there are Preventers all over this building, they have orders to keep you in here by force if necessary!"  

"What hospital?!"

"Heero, you're just going to make your injuries worse!"  Sally shouted quickly, trying to make herself heard over the Lady.  "We're not trying to keep you from him, it's just that there's nothing you can do now, and your injuries . . ."

"Where is he!?"  He shook her a little for emphasis.  Heero knew her words made intellectual sense, but the feeling that he needed to get to Quatre _now_ was overriding everything else.

"St. Bethel!"  Sally said suddenly, eyes widening as she heard herself spill the information so unexpectedly.  

Heero wasted no time.  He shoved the doctor away, tossing her on the vacated cot behind him.  It was a nice (relatively speaking) soft landing.  He didn't actually want to hurt her after all, just get her out of the way.

Lady Une was blocking the only exit out of the room.  Unless you counted the window, which Heero was eying a little _too_ speculatively.  Une scowled and weighed her options.  Deciding she didn't want one of her best agents taking a dive out of a fourth-floor story window (no matter how obstinate he was being,) she moved to the side.  Her wayward Preventer immediately stopped eyeballing the window and raced out the door.  His injuries didn't appear to be hindering him at all.

Sally heaved herself up from the bed, cursing Heero loudly.  Une ignored the woman's antics, cocking her head to the side as she listened to Yuy's progress through the hospital.  It seemed her subordinates were following her orders and trying to stop the pilot's exodus.  Not that they were succeeding.

She sighed and checked her watch.  Exactly two minutes and forty-three seconds later a young Preventer officer came bursting into the room.  His hair was mussed and one of his sleeves was ripped, but he was otherwise unharmed.  "Ma'am," he saluted Une hastily.  "He appropriated an ambulance.  We couldn't stop him!"

Lady Une sighed and rubbed her temple.  "Of course you couldn't," she muttered.  She turned to Sally.  "I think we need to get over to St. Bethel.  I have a feeling we're going to have a lot of ruffled feathers to soothe.  I just hope no one tries to keep him from seeing Quatre."

"It's a private, rather expensive, hospital, ma'am."  Sally answered.  "There's bound to be security."

The two women exchanged a look, and then spoke as one. 

"I'll drive!"

Heero brought the stolen ambulance to a skidding halt right outside the fancy, frosted glass doors of St. Bethel.  He leapt out of the vehicle and dashed though the entranceway into the lobby, making a beeline for the check in counter.  Vaguely he noticed that the lobby was certainly more posh than the hospital he had been staying at, which really wasn't a surprise.  St. Bethel was one of those fancy, and most important of all, _discrete_, places where the very rich and/or very famous could recover out of the limelight.  Heero's stay had been funded with government money, and there was no way the Preventer budget could put him up in a place like this. 

The clerk at the counter glanced up at him as he skidded to a halt in front of her.  Her pretty brown eyes widened as she got a good look at the disheveled pilot.  His hair, naturally untidy as it was, had reached new heights of messiness today, and his cobalt eyes were wild.  The clerk's eyes traveled down his form, lipstick painted mouth opening in a gasp as she noticed the red stain spreading across the midsection of his white, obviously hospital issued, pajama pants.  

Right now, Heero bore an uncanny resemblance to an escaped mental patient, something that he grew painfully aware of as the clerk stared at him for a couple of minutes more.  Then she promptly pressed the panic button.  

Heero cursed as burly security guards suddenly materialized from practically every exit, closing in on him with a speed and organization that would have had Lady Une gasping with delight and promptly signing them all on as Preventers.  Before they could reach him, the Japanese man turned and addressed the clerk.  "Look, I don't want any trouble.  I just want to know what room Quatre Raberba Winner is in, and what his condition . . ."

The rest of the sentence was lost as one particularly speedy guard reached him and tried to grab his arms.  Heero quickly ducked under his reach and elbowed the man in the gut, than he used a spin kick to send him flying into one of his fellows.  The other guards closed in, and Heero wasted a precious thirty seconds knocking them all unconscious.  Then he promptly jumped over the counter, ignoring the stab of pain and fresh gush of blood from his abdomen, and grabbed the stunned clerk by the shoulders.  "I don't like repeating myself," he growled threateningly.  He noticed that the woman's eyes were wide with fear and a part of his mind cringed at his actions, but the sense of urgency riding him wouldn't let him stop completely.  Nevertheless, he gentled his grip and softened his voice slightly.  "What room is Quatre Winner in?  Please, just tell me."

The clerk seemed to realize that some kind of response was needed.  "I . . . I don't . . ."

Her incoherent stammering was interrupted by another voice.  "Melinda, I need the paperwork for Mr. Webster's checkout. . .  hey, who are you?  And what the hell do you think you're doing?!"

Heero glanced over at the new voice.  It was a young man, fresh-faced and freckled with short hair the color of rust, and he was wearing a white lab-coat.  From that Heero deduced that he must be a doctor.  

The ex-pilot decided to ignore him for the time being.  He turned back to the clerk.  "Where is Quatre staying?!"

"Mr. Winner?"  It was the young doctor again, sounding startled and clearly not knowing when to shut his mouth and run very quickly in the other direction.  "Melinda, call security!"

"I, I already did."  And then, at a firm shake from Heero:  "I think he's somewhere on third floor!"

"You think or you know?"  Out of the corner of his eye, Heero could see the doctor taking in the virtual army of unconscious security guards.

The clerk, apparently named Melinda, gasped.  "It's third floor, I'm sure of it!"

"Hey!  Don't tell him that!"  The doctor looked outraged.  "You there!  Get your hands off of her!  And keep away from my patient!"

Heero dropped the startled Melinda and stared at the young doctor.  He had suddenly gotten a lot more interesting.  "Your patient?  You're Quatre's doctor?"  In a blur of speed Heero traded one hostage for another, grabbing the doctor's arm and twisting it behind his back.  "You will take me to him."  Ignoring the shout of startled protest he dragged the outraged man to the elevator and shoved him inside.  It was difficult to press the button for third floor with a struggling captive, but somehow Heero managed.  

The doors had just closed when the doctor landed a lucky elbow into Heero's wound.  The Japanese man gasped and suddenly let go, doubling over at the sickening pain as the redheaded physician scrambled over to pound fruitlessly at the doors.  Frustrated, he slammed his forearms against the metal, then stopped and blinked in surprise at the smudge of red that now decorated the door.

The doctor stared at the blood and then glanced at his arms.  Yes, one of them was smeared in red.  With a startled sound the man turned and stared at Heero, noticing the re-opened wound for the first time.  "You're injured!"  It came out sounding more like an accusation than anything else.  Heero managed an amused smirk around the pain.  He sounded like Sally Poe.

"Hn."

The young doctor was beginning to look exasperated.  "Are you stupid?  You can't just run around with a wound like that!  You'll expire from blood loss!"

"I need to see Quatre."

"I won't let you hurt one of my patients!"  They glared at each other, both frustrated and desperate.  Impasse.

The man's devotion to his patient was something Heero would have admired under any other circumstances, but right now it was annoying.  "Look, I'm not going to hurt him.  I would cut off my own arms before harming Quatre!"  The Japanese man took a calming breath.  It only sort of worked.  "I woke up in a hospital, a different hospital, and heard what happened to him.  I need to see him!"  Voicing the desperate urge out loud sounded strange, but Heero was feeling reckless.

The elevator door dinged quietly opened behind the doctor, but he made no move to leave.  Instead he stared at Heero.  "What's your relationship to Mr. Winner?"

Heero hesitated, eyeing the man distrustfully, going through possible answers and discarding them.  "We're . . . close."

One red eyebrow rose.  "Close?"  He parroted incredulously.  "That doesn't tell me anything!"  Heero shot the doctor a meaningful look, and crossed his arms pointedly (and painfully) over his chest, waiting for the man to get it.  "I . . . oh!  I see."  For a second he seemed at a loss, than he frowned thoughtfully.  "Look," he trailed off hesitantly, clearly torn.  "If you harm him in any way . . ."

Heero just looked at him, blue eyes trying to convey a patience that he didn't feel.  

"Alright.  I'll bring you to him, but I'm watching you.  Don't think I approve of what you did to get in here."  This time it was Heero who quirked an eyebrow.  "Follow me."  The doctor moved down the hallway, glancing back to see that the Japanese man wasn't so much as following him as crowding at his heels.  They marched quickly down the hallway, and then the doctor stopped in front of a door.  The number 310 was inscribed in delicate gold lettering on the wood.  

The doctor folded his arms over his chest and pinned Heero with earnest brown eyes.  "Look, I think its only fair to warn you.  Mr. Winner is in a coma.  He's been in one for days, chances are he may never wake up."

Heero stared at the door, urgency thrumming painfully through his veins.  "He's in there?"

"Yes, but you have to understand . . ."  Heero interrupted by the simple action of moving him bodily away from the door.  He pushed it open and stepped inside.

The lights were dim and the room was quiet, a quiet broken only by the incessant beeping of a heart monitor.  Heero's eyes adjusted quickly, and he followed the sound, yanking back a curtain as he went.

There he was.  The blonde looked fragile and washed out against the white sheets.  Tubes sprouted from his wrists like electrical wiring, leading to small bags of life-sustaining fluid against the wall.  Heero had the illogical thought that the blonde's life energy was slowly seeping away through the tubes, draining Quatre of what made him, well, _him_.

The doctor had followed him through the door.  "I don't know what you hope to accomplish.  It's not like he'll get better just because you're here."

//But he will// Heero suddenly thought, and moved forward to pick up the blonde's hand. 

And as the doctor watched in amazement, Quatre's eyes opened.  The blonde blinked once, very deliberately, and then immediately focused on the young man holding his hand.

He smiled.


	2. Chapter 2

Where Duo's very angsty, and we find that green is not a good color on Wufei.  All previous warnings and disclaimers apply. Part 2 

_Slightly before Quatre wakes up._

Duo sat on the porch steps, arms clasped about his knees defensively.  In the sky, the moon rose stubbornly heavenwards, too impatient to wait for the stars to catch up.  To the west, the sun laboriously sank past the pine trees, orange light swallowed early by the grasping branches.  The lengthening shadows fit Duo's mood perfectly.

Around him the nocturnal denizens of the mountain forest awoke; the soft hoot of an owl, the busy chirp of crickets, and even the distant echo of a howl, (no doubt the outcome of the reintroduction of wolves to this part of world), but louder still than any of these was the cabin behind him.  

It was so quiet that it was deafening.

Duo sighed and turned his head to eye the silent building, completely unable to ignore its presence, like picking compulsively at a scab until it scarred.  Its cozy windows were dark and empty, soulless eyes staring into the twilight.  The screen door was torn and hanging off its track, testament to an angry exodus.  Duo had the vague thought that he should probably fix it, before the bugs came out in mass and took over the residence, but it would simply require too much energy.

Besides, the little critters would probably make better use of the place then they had.

Duo's forehead sank back to his knees.  His head hurt, the pressure that had been building behind his eyes for days had developed into a full-fledged migraine.  The physical pain was a perfect accompaniment to the unexplainable feeling that was lodged somewhere inside his skull, the desperate, baffling sense that told him he should be _elsewhere_.

And really, that feeling was what had been the catalyst.  The final straw that broke the camel's back, the end of an era, really, just _pick_ any depressing cliché and it would describe it perfectly.

Because in the end, as always, it had been his fault.

First, he had been the idiot who had suggested this little retreat, because _clearly_ their last vacation (also his idea) had been such a rousing success, what with the "dissecting doctor" out for Q's life and Duo's own near drowning.  This time, instead of a crowded beach resort, Duo had found a nice secluded cabin (on earth) in the middle of a national park.  Miles upon miles of practically virgin forest nestled among the jagged peaks of a majestic mountain range.  It was the perfect place for Duo, Trowa, and Wufei to puzzle out their strange new relationship, _away_ from the distractions of friends and work.

And really, that had been his second mistake.  To trap three such different people together, with no distractions . . .

Well, just look where Duo was now:  alone on the porch, with the screen door askew behind him.

Oh initially it had been great.  Duo had seen the impressed widening of emerald eyes once Trowa had gotten a look at the locale.  Even the perpetually grouchy Wufei had expressed his approval for the idea.  After all, the location was beautiful, pristine even, and most importantly far, far away from any of the garish amusement parks that Duo _could _have chosen.  Plus, the sex was _great_, really, truly, fantastic, (which, for three hormonally charged young men, had made all the difference). And for a while they had all been, if not happy (there was too much uncertainty for that), at least content in the potential of their relationship.  

But then he had fucked up.

Nothing new there, but at least the other times he could explain _why_.  

That night it had been raining out.  Not just a gentle spring drizzle, but a full out thunderstorm, one bad enough to make getting down the mountain a perilous venture at best.  That night, Duo had woken up in their shared bed, heart pounding, an outcry just barely trapped behind his clenched jaw.  Spurred on by a mysterious sense of panic he had leapt out of bed.  Fear and confusion made his usually nimble feet clumsy, and his lower half got tangled within the sheets (already twisted out of whack by previous activities), causing him to crash off the edge of the bed like a breaching whale.

The resulting clang was enough to momentarily drown out the steady thrum of the rain, and Trowa and Wufei had instantly awoken, battle-trained instincts kicking into high gear, both reaching for weapons they no longer slept with.  Duo had been pretty out of it, all he could really recall was his overwhelming sense of panic, but apparently the fall had knocked his clenched jaw open, and he screamed something.

A name.

Quatre's.

Trowa and Wufei had gotten him calmed down (comparatively speaking), and managed to convince him that there was no _way_ he was getting down the mountain with the roads all washed out.  Though he couldn't explain to them where he was going and why he needed to get there. 

And then Wufei had frostily informed him of whose name he had just screamed.  Duo had just blinked at him, he didn't remember yelling anything, and the other man's attitude was puzzling, to say the least.  He was acting like Duo had just screamed Quatre's name in the height of passion.  

Cutting remarks followed Duo's stunned silence, and Trowa, the guy who was usually as cool as a mountain stream, got really _angry_, and not with Duo.  The seemingly unreasonable jealousy that Wufei showed over Duo and Quatre's friendship had finally gotten to him.  He exchanged some words with Wufei, rather caustic ones, and all Duo could do is sit on the bed and stare, feeling a little like a kid whose parents were fighting, (no matter how inappropriate that metaphor was).  

Wufei and Trowa finally finished their little spat, and an uncomfortable silence followed, undercurrents of resentment charging the air.   The only reason no one marched out in a huff was because of the dangerous weather outside.  Eventually, Wufei stiffly moved his stuff into the living room, planning to sleep on the couch.  

Not that any of them got much sleep that night, and it certainly wasn't because of the storm.

The bad weather continued through the next night, and things remained just as tense inside.  The couple that had been so good at wordless communication was suddenly avoiding each other.  Certainly a difficult prospect when trapped inside a cramped mountain cabin, but they were talented guys and somehow managed.  Trowa's face was blanker than it had been during the war, and Wufei paced around with a scowl practically welded to his lips.

Duo hid in the bedroom, wishing he could crawl underneath the bed itself.

He was shocked; he had never seen Trowa and Wufei fight before.  Ever.  And when they did, it was all because of something he had done.  Well, sort of.

The rainstorm had cleared up just an hour ago, and as soon as the local radio station had announced it (relatively) safe to travel Wufei had stormed out of the cabin, lifted the wet plastic cover off his motorcycle, and roared away for locations unknown.  Trowa had watched him go, eyes like uncaring chips of emerald, and then he had declared that he was going for a walk, though not without laying a comforting hand on Duo's shoulder before he went.

And so here he was, sitting on the porch steps, waiting for Trowa to return so they could get the hell out of here.

Duo blew out an exhausted breath and lifted his hand to rub tiredly at his forehead.  The pain behind his eyes throbbed in time with his heartbeat, and the urgent pressure in the back of his skull . . .

Duo blinked and looked up blindly, hand moving from his forehead to the back of his head.  The strange, desperate feeling was just . . . gone.  Duo got to his feet slowly, wincing slightly because though the feeling was no longer there, the headache that it had etched into his brain was.   What the hell did it mean?  The absence of the weird pressure was just as confusing as its presence.  Something had happened, but what?

He might just be going insane, but . . .

Duo decided he wasn't going to wait for Trowa anymore.  He headed into the woods, following the path that he had seen the green-eyed man take earlier.  He'd find Trowa, and then get the fuck off this mountain.

It was time to go see Quatre.

A muttered grumble brought Heero's attention to his abdomen, which Quatre's physician, Dr. Alan Hark, was in the process of examining.  The young man glanced irritably up at Heero, and amazingly enough, even the freckles on his face appeared affronted.  "You're lucky you didn't bleed to death, Preventer or not.  How the hell did you drive all the way over here with this many broken stitches?" 

Heero just returned the look blandly, not surprised when Dr. Hark held his gaze evenly.  For a man kidnapped and threatened mere hours before, the doctor was holding up well, especially considering _the patient himself_ was the one who had done the aforementioned threatening.  Very well, actually, though part of that probably had to do with the arrival of Lady Une and Sally Poe (plus a whole squad of Preventers) and their efficient smoothing over of the incident.  The other part (no doubt) had to do with the miraculous recovery of Dr. Hark's patient.  Though he had declared it a phenomenal coincidence, Heero thought that he was a little more awed with the whole situation than he let on.  And speaking of the patient . . . 

Quatre was propped up in a bed across the room from Heero's own.  He was grimacing theatrically with every bite of food Sally was making him choke down.  It didn't matter how expensive the place, hospital food was terrible the universe over.  Duo swore that it was all an elaborate plot to make sure that the patients didn't over stay their welcome.  Though why anyone would want to stay in a place where his or her every move was monitored so thoroughly was completely beyond Heero.  But then, as Duo had so gleefully pointed out, he was a control freak.  Being taken care of wasn't exactly his _thing_.  

Dr. Hark finished patting Heero's bandages in place and then straightened up, hands locked in the small of his back as he stretched the kinks out of his spine.  There was something very pointed about the whole display, as if he was letting Heero see exactly how much extra work he had created for the good doctor.  The Japanese man held back a smirk.  Sally did the same kind of things; doctors, at least the high-quality ones, seemed to take it personally when their patients didn't take care of themselves.  

A soft chuckle from Quatre caused Heero's almost-smirk to vanish completely.  His cobalt eyes locked unerringly on the blonde, like a missile to its target.  There had been something about the sound that rang false, and Heero _knew_ that it wasn't real laughter.  It was just a smokescreen thrown up skillfully to mislead the enemy.  And wasn't _that_ just a strange thought to have, because there certainly wasn't anyone in this room who could be considered Quatre's enemy.  Heero had been having these weird feelings ever since the blonde had woken up with that smile.  Oh, the smile had been real enough, and it had been for Heero alone, but the display afterwards, the counterfeit, practiced way he had been acting with everyone . . .

As if he had heard Heero's thoughts, the young billionaire turned his head and smiled.  This expression was a little more genuine, and clearly said:  _everything's fine, stop worrying, the gears in your brain are turning so loudly that I can hear them all the way over here_.  

Heero did not respond to the assurance, if anything the intensity in his expression ratcheted up a notch.  The overlarge nightshirt the blonde wore (no paper thin gowns at this hospital) hung slightly off one shoulder, and the bones underneath stood out in stark relief.  When had Quatre gotten so thin?  He had always had a slender build, but the way he was now just didn't look healthy, and there was no way he could have lost this much weight just from being unconscious for a few days.  In fact, when was the last time Heero had seen him eat a full meal?  Certainly not lately, he picked at his food listlessly when they were at home, and Heero had a feeling that he skipped meals all together when at work.  And lately, there had been a tension in him, especially when they had been around other people.  His shoulders had begun to hunch forward slightly as if he was trying to protect himself from a blow, and he knew that Quatre wasn't sleeping well at night, as the dark circles under his eyes testified to.  

But, whenever Heero had started to worry, before he could actually verbalize anything, the blonde would turn to him and smile, and then say something or do something to completely derail his train of thought.  In fact, the more the dark-haired man thought about it, the more he realized how very often that happened.  It disturbed him.  Quatre had never manipulated him before, but he was now, and it was done so skillfully that Heero hadn't even caught on to it until this had happened.   

Quatre's reassuring smile vanished, and he chewed at his bottom lip inattentively before breaking their shared gaze.  His hand came up to rub at his chest absently, and Heero's focus fixed on the gesture.  It was something that Quatre had been doing a lot lately.

Something made him turn his head, and he found Dr. Hark staring curiously at him.  The man's eyes widened slightly as he inadvertently found himself on the end of that concentrated gaze, and to Heero's credit, it only took him a second to realize that he should probably temper the intensity of his expression.  He did so immediately, but the doctor still looked unsettled, and his own gaze shifted to the blonde who was now picking at his food rather listlessly.  Dr. Hark turned back to Heero.  "What was that all about?"  His voice was hesitant, but there was a strong thread of curiosity underneath, propping up the doctor's courage.

Heero shrugged, eyes locked back on Quatre.  "I'm not sure," he murmured, voice so low that the physician had to strain to hear it.

Dr. Hark frowned at the Japanese man, but his curiosity wasn't quite strong enough to sustain his courage long enough to follow that line of questioning through.  Not when he doubted the sanity of the one questioned.  He was brave, but not stupid . . . at least that's what he liked to tell himself.  "Well," he cleared his throat nervously, "I do have other patients to see to, so . . ."  He said his goodbyes to Quatre and Sally.  Then he spent another thirty seconds warning Heero against leaving the bed, because otherwise there would be dire consequences, (and no, he didn't specify what these consequences would be).  Finally, he left.    

Noticing the look that the Japanese man was shooting her, Sally abruptly cleared her throat and stood up.  "Well," she started, with a smile for her blonde patient, "I'd better get going too, and I really should track down Une.  There's paperwork to do, and you know what that's like."  She patted Quatre's shoulder, ignoring the anxious glint in his eyes at being left alone with Heero and the inevitable questions that would follow.

The door thunked behind her on the way out, and Quatre flinched imperceptibly at the sound, shoulders tensing further in the sudden silence.  The blonde moved his dinner tray to the side, very carefully not making eye contact with his lover.  Heero's eyes, on the other hand, bored into the fidgeting figure on the bed, and he willed the blonde to look at him.

Quatre grew still for a second, then took a deep breath and lifted his eyes slowly, as if he were facing a firing squad.  Their eyes met, and Heero didn't waste anymore time.  "What happened?"

The blonde's eyes slid away from his face, and for a second Heero thought he was going to pretend to misunderstand.  Then, finally, he spoke.  "I'm not sure," he said quietly.

Heero continued to study him, a nearly unnoticeable frown pinching at the corners of his mouth.  "You're lying," he stated suddenly, voice flat to hide the sudden sense of betrayal uncurling in his belly.

Quatre's eyes flew to his face, his own stricken.  "Heero . . ."

"You've been hiding something from me.  Ever since we've got back from the resort, there's been something wrong, and you _won't tell me_."  The last was said in a low growl, and the dark-haired pilot threw back the blanket on his bed and started to painfully sit up.

Quatre's eyes widened.  "What are you doing?"  He said sharply.  "You'll pull the stitches again, idiot!"

Heero ignored him and started to swing his legs to the floor.  "I'm coming over there," he said grimly.

Quatre cursed at him.  "Stay there damn it, I'll come to you!"  Heero glared at the blonde as he pulled himself out of bed and stood on shaky legs, but this time Quatre glared back.  "I'm not the one who just got shot and had surgery, and then went on to steal an ambulance and beat up fifty guards," he pointed out irritably.

"No, you're the one who mysteriously collapsed and just woke up from a coma," Heero said in a deadpan voice.  "And besides, it was only six guards."  Despite the words, he stopped trying to leave the bed.

Quatre crossed the tile, gaining more confidence on his feet as he went, and then climbed into the other man's bed.  It was a tight fit, being a single, but the blonde didn't seem to care as he wrapped his arms around Heero, mindful of his injuries, and then rested his forehead against his lover's.  "I'm sorry," he whispered miserably.

Heero returned the embrace carefully, arms made awkward by his injuries.  He stroked the blonde's thin back; disturbed by the delicacy of the bones he could clearly feel underneath.  "Are you sick?"  He whispered quietly, terrified of the answer and yet having to know.

The blonde shook his head slightly, the smooth skin of his forehead sliding against Heero's own.  "No, it's not like you think, it's nothing like that.  Please don't worry."

Heero relaxed imperceptibly in his arms.  "So what is it Quatre?"  The words were an explosion of air against the blonde's mouth.  "Don't tell me it's nothing.  You haven't been eating or sleeping well, and you're acting strange.  I should have noticed before now."  The last words were a clear damnation of self.

Quatre pressed closer, arms tightening protectively around the injured man.  "I'm sorry, I don't know how to explain, I don't even know if I _can_."

"_Try_."

"I will . . . just, please, not now.  Would you . . . let me get my thoughts in order first?"

Heero was still against him, and then, he blew out a breath.  "Fine.  But I'm only giving you until tomorrow.  You will tell me then, no excuses."  Part of Heero thought he should keep pushing, he was good at being persistent.  But Quatre was just as stubborn as he was, and he just didn't have the energy right now.  Not when the blonde was so warm and frighteningly fragile in his arms.  

Quatre sighed in relief, eyes closing as he snuggled more firmly into Heero's body, trying to convey through touch alone that everything was going to be alright.  

Neither slept very much that night, but neither did they let go of each other.

Wufei Chang waited impatiently for the elevator to stop moving, arms crossed over his chest in a desperate attempt to keep from punching something.  He should have taken the stairs, no matter that the Preventer offices were on the 33rd floor.  At least he could have run off some his frustration.  He had worked straight through the night, catching up after the disaster of his so-called vacation, in the hopes that doing something constructive would keep his mind off of things.  The skeleton crew that had been on tonight had been easily avoided, and his need for solitude had been satisfied.  If he had had to deal with any well meaning co-workers ribbing him about his absence . . . well, Preventer Chang wasn't exactly known for his even temper.

With a soft ding, the elevator finally reached the ground floor.  It had barely shuddered to a stop before Wufei strode out in to the underground parking lot, the edges of his long black coat brushing the doors when they didn't open quite quickly enough.

The lot was empty, and Wufei's boots clicked smartly against the cement, echoing against the concrete of the low ceiling.  His stride took him past the still metal hulks of the parked cars, their insides vacant and expectant for their owner's return.

Wufei rounded a truck so covered in rust that its original color was impossible to determine.  On the other side, listing slightly to the side in rest, stood his motorcycle.  Its usually shiny back and silver surface was flecked with bits of reddish-brown dirt form his ride down a mountain in the rain.  His thin lips tightened at the sight, not because it offended his fastidious nature, (though it did), but because of what, and more importantly who, it reminded him of.  And then there was the fact that he hadn't exactly handled the situation with any degree of reasonableness . . . 

He threw his leg over the bike, doing his best to ignore the dirt, and scowled thunderously.  For a second he considered finding the nearest bar and drowning his troubles with as many vile pollutants as he could stomach.  But though he was feeling angry and stupid, he wasn't feeling quite _that_ angry and stupid.  The only time he set foot in those kinds of places was when Duo or Trowa managed to convince . . .

He slammed the lid on that train of thought quickly.  Sure, he wasn't feeling angry and stupid enough now, but damn it, give him time.

Wufei revved the engine once, and the again for good measure, it's low growl deeply satisfying, certainly more so than anything he could produce.  With the bike snarling underneath him, he left the garage for the feeble morning light.

As he roared away, a black car turned its headlights on before smoothly following.

Heero frowned as Dr. Hark examined the stitched incision across his stomach.  The man was really beginning to get on his nerves, hovering around constantly, checking on either him or Quatre.  That's what nurses were for, and they, at least, were easier to rattle than the good doctor.  The one who had come in this morning and caught him and Quatre in the same bed had been blushing so badly that she could barely get a word out.  Unfortunately, Dr. Hark wasn't nearly so easy, and the man just kept chatting away with Quatre.  And it was the inane, completely irritating social talk that never ceased to set his teeth on edge.

Heero was reminded of how very much he hated hospitals, and he briefly entertained the idea of making an escape by window-jump.  It's not like he'd never done it before.

But somehow, he didn't think Quatre would appreciate that.  Right now, the blonde was eyeballing him wearily as if he sensed his thoughts.  Heero tried to send him a smile, but it must have looked more like a pained grimace, because Quatre wasn't exactly looking assured.

Dr. Hark finished rewrapping the bandages and straightened up.  He scratched his head, looking vaguely puzzled.  "Well, these are sure looking surprisingly good.  You heal awfully fast."

Heero shrugged indifferently, and from the other bed Quatre was muttering something along the lines of "good thing, too," only in less polite terms.

The door squeaked slightly, and Heero glanced up, expecting to see one of the oh-so-easily-embarrassed nurses, but the woman standing framed in the doorway didn't appear to be of that type.  She was a tiny woman, thin and petite with red hair flecked with an equal amount of gray.  Her outfit was eyestrain bright, painful shades of purple and green with beaded jewelry to match.  She smiled brightly at Dr. Hark's back.  "Alsandare!"

The doctor froze, a deer-in-the-headlights look.  He stood like that for a moment, and then slowly turned around to see if the nightmare was real.  "M-mother," he stuttered quickly, "what are you doing here?"  He sounded afraid of the answer.

The woman gave him a disapproving look.  "Alsandare, come and greet your mother properly," she said with a bright smile, lifting her arms in a motion that clearly meant "hug."  

Dr. Hark walked over to her mechanically, shooting Heero and Quatre a horrified glance as he did, and then gingerly put his arms around the tiny lady.  Her head only came up to his chest, but when her arms went around him and squeezed Heero thought he heard a rib crack.  Only after a strangled "mother," did the woman let go.

"Alsandare?"  Quatre asked curiously, regarding the mother and son reunion with amusement.

Dr. Hark turned red.  "Mother, I've told you a thousand times that I like to be called Alan."

"Nonsense, Alsandare is a wonderful name, and so suitable too!  It means protector of humankind, you know."  She paused and chuckled to herself a little.  "Actually, I believe the exact definition used the term _mankind_, but I thought that would be a bit too limiting."  She winked.  "Amazingly, it's perfect for his line of work, and I must have been especially clairvoyant the day he was born."  

She looked up and smiled at Heero, then turned her head to face Quatre, where she suddenly paused.  She regarded the blonde in a way that was briefly piercing, and then her smile turned sympathetic.  "Oh, you poor dear.  It's all wearing on you, isn't it?"  Quatre's own smile froze, and he stared at her in confusion.  She tapped her head for emphasis, and the sympathy in her smile reached her eyes.  "It's difficult, isn't it?  Being an empath, I mean."


	3. Chapter 3

Overload

By GreenLady

Warnings:  In this chapter, swearing, minor violence, and yaoi.

Disclaimer:  Gundam Wing belongs to Bandai, Sunrise, and whoever else.  I am in no way affiliated with any of these agencies, nor do I profit off of their hard work.  The key word here is _fan_ fiction.

Notes:  Thanks to Misanagi and Anne for the fic stalking, and of course, everyone else for their wonderful feedback.  Thanks also to my beta (for her support in all my endeavors), Willowbranch.  

Part 3

In the silence that followed, a grenade could have gone off and no one would have flinched.  They all stared at the tiny woman hovering in the doorway, the gentle, affable smile curving her lips a strange incongruence to the bombshell she had just dropped. 

Heero frowned.  It was ridiculous.  He knew it was, it had to be, but for some reason his stomach was tightening, as if it knew more than his brain.  He turned his head to look at Quatre.  The blond was still, shoulders rigid, neck bent as he picked absently at the bedcovers.  He wasn't looking at any of them.  

The tightening in Heero's stomach got worse, and a strange, unexplainable lump in his throat prevented him from voicing anything.

Luckily, (or not), that wasn't true for everyone in the room.  "Mother!"  Dr. Hark looked scandalized, and his face was turning a painful shade of red.  "Jesus, don't say those kinds of things, I don't want to have to have you banned from the hospital!"  She sniffed, insulted, and her son turned quickly to Heero and Quatre.  "Please ignore her.  She's in to a lot of spiritual new-age-y stuff."  He waved his hand vaguely at the last.  "I apologize for her behavior.  She doesn't mean any harm, really, she's just . . . eccentric."

"Now you listen here young man!"  She pointed her finger angrily, almost poking Dr. Hark in the eye with the motion, and ignoring him as his face turned even redder with embarrassment.  "Modern medicine can't fix everything, and the research available on the brain is, if I may speak frankly, completely dismal.  This poor child over here," she gestured at the still very quiet Quatre, "is out of your field of expertise.  Why, the only thing you could do for him is to feed him so many sedatives that he wouldn't know up from down and then lock him up in some overpriced institute!  And that certainly isn't a very good solution for anybody, let alone an empath!"

Dr. Hark stepped back from her admonishing finger and covered his face with his hands.  "Oh god, why do you always have to embarrass me like this?"  He straightened abruptly, probably realizing he was sounding like a whiny teenager.  He took a deep breath and then cut her off before she could say anything more damaging.  "I'm the doctor here!  I didn't spend six years in medical school in order to humor your delusions!"  

Mrs. Hark was suddenly turning as red as her son, but this was from anger, not embarrassment.  But before she could really lay in to him, a quiet voice said something that derailed all arguments.

"It's true, isn't it?"

Heero wasn't speaking to the shouting, red-haired pair.  The question was directed at the too-quiet Quatre.  The blond looked up slowly, expression surprised and vaguely panicked.  Heero continued before anybody else could cut in.  "It makes sense.  The way you've been acting the last couple of months:  the way you flinch from large crowds, and the way you seem to know what I'm thinking before I even do myself."  The way he gazed at Quatre was piercing.  "I don't understand everything yet, but I know you've been lying to me.  You've been . . . manipulating me."  He shook his head slightly, though the motion didn't really seem to convey anything beyond a vague bemusement.  "You're good.  Really good, for a long time I wasn't even aware that something was wrong.  But now I realize.  No more lying, Quatre."  

The silence that followed was expectant.  Dark blue eyes pinned the blond, waiting patiently for some kind of answer.  Quatre had gone pale, and was focusing even harder on picking at a loose thread from his blanket.  Finally Heero decided that a bit more prodding would be necessary.  "Am I right?"  He said sharply.

Slowly, Quatre's gaze rose from his lap.  "Yes."

Dr. Hark made a strangled noise.  "Oh come on!"  Quatre shot him a startled look.  "Mr. Winner, I can't believe that you're getting taken in by this.  You're a businessman!  This is . . ."

He was cut off rudely as Mrs. Hark smacked him on the back of his head.  She didn't really hit him very hard so his strangled "mother!" wasn't completely justified.  She turned to Quatre and smiled placidly.  "Now my dear, you really shouldn't be continuing like this.  I can help."  

The blond seemed to be at a loss, so Heero spoke up.  "How do you know about any of this?"  His tone was that of an interrogator.  "Just who are you?"

The redheaded woman's smile widened.  "Oh I'm sorry, I guess I forgot to introduce myself.  I'm Nora Hark."  She took a step forward, and waved slightly, in a patently unnecessary gesture.  "I'm an empath too."   

"Oh god."  Dr. Hark muttered, putting a hand over his face.

Heero ignored the man and turned to look at Quatre, who was, in turn, staring at Nora with a vaguely curious expression of dawning comprehension.  "Quatre?"

Heero didn't need to ask anything else; the blond seemed to understand him just fine.  "I think . . . I think it's true.  Not only is she not lying, she feels . . . different."    

The Japanese man nodded briskly.  Strangeness had been verified, and Heero was a man of action.  "You say you can help?"

She stared at him, expression vaguely bemused by his ready acceptance.  "I can."

"Good."  Heero nodded, once, and that was that.  Quatre's head swiveled back and forth between them.  He actually felt a little left out of the decision making process.  

The doctor was looking at them all like they had sprouted three heads.  He started to say something, but then seemed to choke.  It looked like the proverbial cat had his tongue.

Mrs. Hark looked at him, smiling sweetly.  "Something wrong dear?"

Her son shot her a dirty look, than looked at his patients again.  When he looked back at his mother, his expression was resigned.  "If you all want to buy into her delusions I can't stop you.  Now if you'll excuse me I have other patients to see to.  Ones that actually _want_ my help."  He turned on his heel and stalked out the door.

Nora looked after him.  For a minute, her expression was disappointed.  Then she shook her head as the door slammed shut, ridding herself of any lingering melancholy.  Her voice, when it came, was cheerful.  "Well, somebody's sulking."  She turned back to Quatre and Heero and beamed.  "Well now. . ."  She waited expectantly.

Quatre looked up at her and smiled uncertainly, Heero looked at them both and sighed.  "This is Quatre Winner, I'm Heero Yuy."  He was very much not used to having to make the introductions, but the blond looked more than a little thrown.  "So, if you're an empath, than you obviously know how to control it, if you've survived this long.  So how do we fix it?"

Nora shot him a stern look.  "Now young man, being an empath isn't something that has to be 'fixed.'  It's not a disease, if it was I'd let my son help you.  Quatre, was it?"  He nodded timidly.  "Why don't you tell us exactly what it's like right now."

Quatre looked at her for a minute before finally speaking.  "If you're an empath you should be able to tell."  

Her lips curved upwards.  "This is more for Heero's benefit than it is mine.  I think your life partner would like to know."  

Quatre blinked at her.  Now how had she known that he and Heero . . . oh, right.  The blonde's head bent as he went back to picking at the blankets.  "I . . . well, it's like . . ."  He paused, and then said the rest in a rush.  "It's just too much, there's too much inside my head, I don't know what belongs to me, and what belongs to everyone else right now."  He dared to look up, but then avoided Heero's eyes, instead deciding to look at Nora.  "I feel like I'm losing my mind."

The red-haired woman nodded slowly.  "And that's what could happen, without knowing how to deal with it.  It's driven people insane before."

Heero was looking at her sharply.  "So that's why Quatre collapsed?"

Instead of answering that, Nora replied with her own question.  "Tell me, young man, why exactly are you in this hospital bed?"

Heero's eyes narrowed in suspicion.  "Can't you tell?

Her lips twitched.  "I'm an empath, Heero Yuy, not a mind-reader.  There's a difference."

Heero studied her for a second, and then shrugged.  "I was shot."

Nora lifted her eyebrows in surprise, and Quatre felt the need to explain further.  "He's a Preventer.  It happened in the line of duty."

"Ah."  Nora sent Heero a serious look.  "You might want to find a less dangerous line of work."

"What?"

She sighed softly.  "What I mean is, it's your fault he collapsed."  She seemed to replay her words back, and then winced.  "Oh dear, that didn't come out right.  What I meant to say was that, if I'm not wrong, Quatre passed out the same time you were shot.  The exact same time, right down to the second."  She gave them both a slightly exasperated look.  "Now come on children, don't be dense."

Heero stared at her, paling slightly.  "So what you're saying is that if I had been killed, Quatre would have . . ."

"He would have died too."

Heero had gone still, and then he shook his head.  "But that doesn't make sense.  Quatre can feel _everyone_, and we're in a hospital.  There have been people dying around him, and he hasn't reacted that severely.  Plus, I wasn't exactly in close proximity when I was shot."

Nora nodded.  "What your saying is all true, and you've also inadvertently hit on the cure, if you'll excuse my terminology.  As an empath, you can never completely block people out.  What you can do is narrow your focus a little."

"What exactly does that mean?"

"Let's see, how to explain this?"  She tapped a finger to her chin thoughtfully.  "Ah!  I know!  Have you ever had something important to concentrate on?  Like if you're reading in a crowded airport.  It's loud and distracting around you, but if you're reading a good book then you completely tune out all that other noise."

Quatre nodded.  "I understand what you're saying, but how would I go about doing that?  It sounds like it would take a lot of concentration, I wouldn't be able to do anything else, and if my focus slipped, I'd be back to square one."

She shook her head.  "No, it's not really that complicated.  And maybe the book analogy wasn't the best, because it's not some inanimate object you'll be focusing on, it's a person.  And you're not really focusing, your attention is just kind of . . . stuck."  She frowned, trying to think of how to put it.  "It begins naturally, you already have a focus, or a bond, if you will, with someone.  That's why you fainted when he was shot."  She gestured at Heero.  "You're already more connected to him then to anyone else.  All you have to do now is _only_ concentrate on that connection.  Am I making sense?"   

Quatre nodded, but Heero was looking at her sharply.  "But that means that if something were to happen to me, Quatre would still die along with me."

The blond glared at Heero, finally meeting his eyes for the first time since this whole conversation had started.  "Why are you making such a big deal of that?  Are you planning to die?  I thought we'd gotten rid of your death wish."

They glared at each other.  Nora sighed and looked like she was going to say something, but then she turned to the door instead.  "Someone's coming.  Friends of yours?"

Quatre looked up, and for a second, his eyes glazed slightly.  "Duo and Trowa, and they're both pretty upset."

Shortly afterwards, Heero heard footsteps and the door to their room swung open.  Nora had already moved to the side and stood watching calmly.  

Duo burst through first, and he looked pissed.  "Damn it, Q, what the hell?!  I get back to find that you've been hospitalized, and that Heero got shot, and what the fuck is wrong with you both?!"   

Trowa followed at a more sedate pace, but his eyes quickly scanned over both patients, checking for damage.  "How are you two doing?"  Green eyes shifted to Nora.  "Hello.  Did we interrupt something?"

Duo blinked and turned, noticing the red-haired woman's presence for the first time.  "Who the hell's this?"  He took in her colorful clothes.  "Doesn't look like a doctor or nurse to me."

Nora pursed her lips in disapproval.  "My, you're a rude one."  Her eyes sharpened suddenly and she studied him carefully.  Duo had to fight the urge to take a step away from the penetrating stare.  "Oh, now isn't that interesting.  I didn't think you could have more than one."

All four boys looked at her with varying states of confusion.  Then Quatre shook himself slightly.  "Duo, Trowa, this is Nora Hark, she's my doctor's mother."

Trowa murmured a greeting, but Duo was looking at her suspiciously.  "You're the doctor's mother?  And she's visiting you why?"

Heero ignored them both, and pinned her with one of his intense stares.  "What do you mean 'more than one?'"

Nora didn't seem the least bit intimidated, though she did turn to look at Quatre questioningly.  "I see that you're close with these people, but close enough to talk to them about this?"  

The blond looked at her.  He had a feeling that this was as close to tact as she ever got.  "You can talk in front of them."

She turned back to Heero.  "Apparently Quatre has another bond started, one with the rude boy.  It's not as intense as the one between you two, but it's still definitely there."

Duo looked at them.  "What the hell are you all talking about?"

Quatre looked up at him.  "It's my empathy Duo."

The longhaired pilot stared at him for a second then started to swear.  "Fuck, this is the reason you're in the hospital isn't it?  God damn it Quatre, I told you that you needed to get help for this crap!"

Trowa, at least, still looked confused, and it took about ten minutes of explaining to get everyone on the same page.  Heero was largely silent during it all, and Quatre kept shooting him concerned glances, no doubt able to feel the turmoil that was suddenly roiling through his thoughts.  Heero looked at Duo, who was still loudly fuming.  Duo had _known_.  Duo had known even before him.  And Quatre had a bond with Duo, one that was like the one he had with _him_.

It was a good thing Quatre wasn't a mind reader.  He would _not_ have liked the thoughts that were currently going through Heero's mind.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Wufei slammed the shot glass on to the chipped surface of the bar counter.  He held up his hand in a signal for another, and noticed that he seemed to have an extra pair of fingers.  He squinted blearily.  Well good, that meant that he was hopefully close to passing out. 

His resolve to not drown his sorrows hadn't lasted very long, all it had taken was an accidentally turn of the radio, bringing up one of Duo's favorite, (and consequently, loud) rock songs.  And now here he was, getting royally pissed.

He again gestured for another drink, this time succeeding in getting the bartender's attention.  But instead of pouring, the man turned and gave him a stern look.  "I think you've had enough."

Wufei peered at the man.  It took a moment for the words to register, and when they did his eyes narrowed incredulously.  "You're cutting me off?"  He was inordinately pleased by how intelligible he sounded, only slurring the words a little.

The bartender didn't look nearly as impressed.  He grunted and jerked a thumb in the direction of the door.  For a second, Wufei listed forward dangerously.  _Why that smug bastard, who does he think he is?_  But then he managed to get a hold of himself.  A Preventer getting into a bar fight would be frowned upon.  Une would never let him hear the end of it, and if there was one thing that woman could do extra well, it was nag.

Wufei heaved himself to his feet and stood (okay, tottered) until he felt fit to move.  He headed to and out the door, steps only slightly unsteady.  He started to go to his motorcycle, than thought better of it and took out his communicator to call a cab.  After finishing the call, he leaned against the side of the dingy building to wait.  

The parking lot was nearly empty; there were only three other cars plus his motorcycle.  This wasn't too much of a shock.  It _was_ midday, and only the truly dedicated were out drinking this early.  Or the truly desperate.

Wufei automatically scanned the surrounding area, but because of his inebriated state, it took his eyes three passes before his brain finally started sending him a warning.  There was a black car parked to the side, hidden by the bulk of the building from prying eyes in the street. 

 Its engine was running.

Wufei's instincts screeched a belated warning.  Casually, he uncrossed his arms and began to walk, cursing quietly to himself when he realized how unsteady his steps were.  

Before he could get far, the car pulled around and paced him, before smoothly pulling in front and blocking his path.  Wufei stopped and tensed as three masked men got out of the car.  

They had guns.


End file.
